iHate Your Guts!
by iSnarkaholic
Summary: There's no filter between Sam's brain and her mouth...Carly/Sam Cam


iHate Your Guts!

Pairing: Carly/Sam

Disclaimer: It's a waste of time to sue people who don't own anything (a/k/a me)

Rated: T For a few "baaaad" words...and a little "fooling around"

Genre: Humor/Angst (I'm feeling adventurous), oh, yeah, and Romance

Feedback: As always, if you're intelligent, it's welcome and appreciated

Current Muse: Come Talk To Me (Peter Gabriel)

Sam:

Most people who knew me thought I already hated Fredward Benson, but my feelings for him were really more like dull-edged indifference (except when he was in close enough proximity to annoy me and had to be taken down). Otherwise, I basically ignored Freddie. When I bothered to waste a thought on him, which wasn't often, it was usually to gloat about some stinging remark that I'd slammed in his direction earlier that day.

Until three months ago.

Early one September afternoon, during what started as a typical school lunch break, our usual seats by the windows were already taken, so Carls, Fred-bag, and I found ourselves sitting at one of the long tables with about 9 other kids, most of whom weren't in any of my classes. I remember it was a Friday, because the cafeteria menu, as always, offered the revolting choice of Marshmallow Spam Surprise or Luau Meatloaf, neither of which even I would eat. As I was munching on bread sticks, (stolen from the teachers' lounge), Carly headed back to the lunch line to get us both some jello.

While I sat, busily contemplating the pizza that some guy at the next table had brought from home, and wondering how many detentions I'd get for stealing it, Alex Vanaman leaned across our table and said, "Hey, Freddie, my sister loves the show..."

"That's great."

"_...and_ _you..."_

"Uh...that's nice."

"...so she asked me to set you two up."

Lynn Connolly, a snotty know-it-all from my homeroom, immediately reached over and patted Alex on the shoulder. "Sorry, but she's too late, Vermin; Freddie's already taken."

Poor Freddie, inventing imaginary girlfriends again. "No he's not, I said."

"Oh, yes he is!" (Lynn always had to have the last word.)

"By which idiot?"

His head whipped around in my direction. "What do you mean by 'idiot_'_?"

My mind still half on the pizza, I tossed out, "Duh, Fred-wad, anyone who'd be even slightly interested in you is sure to have the IQ of celery."

Several pairs of eyes around us widened, and I thought I heard one or two gasps.

"She does not!"

"Well then, where did you find her, at the Helen Keller Academy?" All eyes within a three-table-radius were on us now.

"Enough, Sam!"

I could have left it at that, but I had an audience and I was on a roll. "Well then, she's definitely a ho-bag, I mean, who else would have you? Hey, that reminds me of a joke: What did Freddie's girlfriend's right leg say to her left leg? Nothing-they've never met!"

And Joy Lautato was out of her seat like a shot, with Freddie running after her, apologizing profusely.

Carly passed them on her way back to the table. "What was that all about?"

I told her.

She told me off.

"How was I supposed to know it was true? I thought he just made it up to avoid continued public humiliation. I mean, the three of us promisedeach other no more secrets, remember?"

"This is different."

"Why should he get to make an exception?"

She pulled me up from my seat and over to the cafeteria line's steam-table, which most students were avoiding like the plague. "Because he really likes her, and was afraid something like this would happen."

I still wasn't willing to take the whole rap. "Well...then how come I've never seen them together?"

"Remember last month, when you thanked him for _not _spending so much time with us lately, and he said it was because he and his mom were taking lessons in Kabuki theater?"

"Kabuki...hey isn't that the kind where all the women's parts are played by..." I finally saw the whole picture. Wide-screen.

Just then Freddie came running up. "You owe Joy an apology!"

"But..."

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"But..."

"At 5 o'clock."

"But..."

"At the Pear store at the mall."

"But..."

Carly shot me 'The Look'.

"...okay."

"Good! Tomorrow I'd better see you, at 5 o'clock, sharp, at the Pear store at the mall."

"Why there?"

"Because you're going to apologize to Joy, and then I'm taking her straight to dinner at Shiraz."

"What? that place is so expensive..."

"Yes, I know. It's to_ try_ to make up for your rudeness."

The following afternoon as I entered the Pear store, just wanting to get the whole thing over with and move on to the food court, I saw Freddie, alone, hovering over the the new state-of-the-art-Pear Portfolio that was on display. As I walked over, I watched him caressing it with both hands - like it was the Holy Grail.

"Look, Sam, it was just released last week. Isn't it absolutely stunning?"

"Dream on, Fred-weird."

"I know, I know. I don't have anywhere near $1,700. "

I looked around for Joy but there was no sign of her, so I checked my watch and couldn't believe I was actually fifteen minutes early-hmm...I'll never be able to tell Carly that; her heart couldn't take the shock.

When Freddie (finally) stopped groping the Pear Portfolio and stood up, I noticed, for the first time, what he was wearing: a very nicely tailored jacket, dress shirt and pants. He actually looked pretty sharp (for Freddie), but I wasn't about to tell him that. He saw me looking at his clothes and turned on the spot, I suppose for me to fully appreciate them (and him) from all angles.

"New suit, whaddya think?"

"Wow, the Salvation Army really has a nice selection these days."

"You don't mean that; I mean you _are_ joking, right?"

"I'm 100% serious. The whole outfit looks like you got it free with a full tank of gas. "

"Sam, don't..."

"How many polyesters died to make that? PETA's gonna pitch a fit when they..."

"Freddie!"

My heart plummeted, as I looked, cringing, over my left shoulder.

"I've changed my mind...I'm not hungry after all!"

"But, Joy..." She was halfway to the door. "I'll call you..."

"Don't bother!"

He turned and shot me a look that would have killed lesser humans. "Happy?"

"What's the big chiz? Why does she care how your mommy dresses you?"

"Sam, she made me this outfit herself! Her family is in the fashion design business! Next summer she's going to intern at the House of Cerise Arbre, in New York!"

Oh crap. "But I didn't realize..."

He was halfway to the door "Yeah, that's the problem; you never do!"

"I'll call you..."

That night, under intense questioning from Carly (Freddie had gotten to her first), I admitted to the whole thing. After a _long _lecture (I'll spare you the deets), she finally said,

"...but, believe it or not, Freddie somehow managed to convince Joy to talk to him again."

"That's good."

"She's going to be at his place, tomorrow afternoon, at 5 pm."

"Great."

"You're going over there..."

"No way! It's not my fault she has no sense of humor."

"...you're going over there..."

"But..."

"...and you're going to apologize..."

"But..."

"...like a_ lady_ this time."

"But..."

Again with 'The Look'.

"...okay."

The following day, (thirty minutes early, to be on the safe side), as I entered Freddie's apartment, my eyes scanning the living room _very carefully_ for signs of Joy, he immediately put his hand against my chest.

"Check your sarcasm at the door."

"Done."

"You're going to apologize?"

"Yes."

"Sincerely?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Then you'll leave quietly." It was not a question.

"Yes."

He let me inside.

I went over and tossed my book bag and jacket onto the couch, and then turned to face him. He looked extremely nervous, but I was feeling upbeat and optimistic (well, okay, _and_ slightly nervous), so I tried to reassure him (and myself). "Don't worry, Fred-dork it'll be okay."

He didn't respond, so, eager to break the awkward silence which followed, I said "Hey, come on, it's not like I told her about when we kissed."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Most people would regard a story about anyone kissing you as an ugly rumor anyway. Let's face it, how would Kill-Joy ever explain to her gynecologist that kissing you was how she ended up with Syphil-lips?"

I heard the gasp coming from the kitchen doorway behind me and spun around, immediately receiving about a pint of iced tea in the face. (Well, at least she didn't throw the glass, too.) Under _any_ _other_ circumstances _anyone_ who did that to me would soon be picking their teeth out of my fist, but I had just screwed up, royally, three times in three days.

"That's it, Freddie!"

"Joy, I swear she's only kidding, that's her thing..."

"Exactly! If you'd prefer to hang out with someone who treats you like raw sewage, rather than with me... "

"But, she's only here to..."

"No, Freddie, _That's It_! It's bad enough you barely stand up for me, but it's just pathetic that you don't bother to stand up for yourself." He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. " Don't even try to talk to me anymore...you're done!" Before he could respond, she was gone.

Still dripping tea onto the floor I turned to him and got as far as, "I swear, I didn't know she was...", when I noticed that he actually looked near tears.

"You just can't ever let it go, can you?"

"Freddie, I just..."

"I finally found someone who I really liked, who really liked me! I could have finally stopped obsessing about Carly, and moved on!"

"Look, Freddie, I..."

"Whatever it is you're going to say, I don't wanna hear it!"

"If you'll just let me..."

"No, Sam, screw this and screw you! I _swear_, if it's the last thing I ever do, someday you're gonna regret what just happened, every bit as much as I do right now!" He dropped onto the couch and buried his face in his hands.

In his bathroom I washed the tea from my face and hair as best I could, and then leaned forward, hands on the sink, trying to identify my options; but my usually-resourceful mind had slammed shut. After maybe ten minutes, I gave up. When I came back into the living room, Freddie wouldn't even look at me, let alone speak.

I grabbed my jacket and book bag, and left.

Carly:

The next morning, after hearing the deets from Sam and seeing how distraught Freddie was, I immediately invited him over for dinner.

When he walked into my apartment, around seven that evening, he took one look at Sam on the couch and turned to leave, but I grabbed hold of his jacket. "No!"

"Freddie, _come on_."

"Does _she_ have to be here?"

"We've been talking since school let out. Sam really wishes she could fix..."

"Yeah, right!"

"Freddie," Sam interjected, "if there's anything I can do..."

"Don't you think you've already done enough?" he yelled

She jumped to her feet. "No! Why won't you just let me..."

"Shut up, Sam, just shut up!"

"No! Freddie, listen to me!"

"I said, _Shut Up_!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Too bad, I'm going to anyway! Why don't you go f..."

I jumped between them and pushed them apart. "That's enough! From both of you!" I grabbed each of them by an arm, hauled them to the kitchen, steered them into chairs on opposite sides of the table, and sat between them.

The sight of food in front of her was enough to (immediately) distract Sam from arguing, but Freddie was still visibly agitated. I laid a hand on his arm.

"Look, Freddie, I'm really sorry that things ended so badly with Joy."

He nodded, toying with his fork, but refused to look up from the table.

"Sam, isn't there something you want to say to Freddie?" I asked, pointedly.

"Yeah, okay, it _was _all my fault...but he didn't have to yell at me just now."

"Well, what did you you expect? He really liked her."

She looked across the table and attempted a smile. "Don't worry, Freddie, there's always Carly to fall back on."

I shot him a sympathetic look. "I don't think he was over me."

He gave me a shy, slightly guilty smile, almost like I'd caught him cheating. "I don't think I ever could get over you..."

I had made my special pasta antipasto appetizer, and barbecued ribs as an entree, since I knew Sam and Freddie were crazy about both (one of the few things I've ever seen them agree on).

During dinner I mostly watched Sam's face, since she was (usually) the more potentially explosive of the two. I also made several attempts at general conversation, but neither of them was saying much: Freddie just shot filthy looks across the table at Sam, who seemed to be debating whether or not to say anything else to him. Finally, after eating her dessert (and most of mine), she took a deep breath.

"Look, Freddie...I know Germy will be at the allergist's office on Friday."

"Yeah, so?"

"So...uh...I'm going to help you set up and break down your tech gear, _and_ help you film the inter-school teachers' debate."

I turned to her. "You do realize that's going to be a four-hour gig."

"Yeah, I know."

"_And_ that you'll be bored to death?"

"I don't care. I really want to." She turned back to Freddie. "I promise I'll even show up half an hour early."

Wow, she _really_ _was_ sorry.

I put on an exaggerated look of shock (not much acting required), and turned to him. "Did you hear that, Freddie? Sam actually volunteering to do_ manual labor_? If that doesn't scream 'apology', I don't know what does!"

He was quiet for a long moment, then nodded, and said, grudgingly, "Okay Sam, I'd appreciate the help."

I sighed inwardly. Peace at last. They were actually capable of being civil.

The three of us chatted (those two, minimally), for the next hour, then Freddie's mom showed up and told him to be home within the next fifteen minutes.

Sam went to the upstairs bathroom to floss her teeth (Spencer always forgets to buy his own floss), and I started to clear the table. "If you'll wait a second Freddie, I'll see you to the door."

"No need. I'll let myself out."

He had just opened the front door when curiosity finally got the better of me. "Freddie, can I ask you something?"

He turned to face me. "Sure."

"Did you really mean what you said...about never getting over me?"

After a long moment he smiled sheepishly, then admitted, "Yeah...I did." He hesitated, hands nervously gripping either side of the door frame and then asked, tentatively, "Carly, before I go, can I get your opinion on something?"

"Sure, why not."

I watched him rummage in his backpack and pull out a thick black book. He turned to a page near the back and read:

"It's 3 am. And, once more, sleep eludes me. What am I going to do about Carly? As she consumes my every waking thought I am tormented endlessly by this white-hot, unrequited passion. I need her with every fiber of my being; I worship her with every fragment of my shattered soul. How can I go on living, knowing she'll never be mine?

I dedicate this poem to her:

Goddess who rules my heart

standing under the trees, after the darkest night

wearing robes of shadow-

torn by light

I want to lie with you by the edge of the sea

and let you explore the most sacred parts of..."

Blushing, I quickly held up my hand. "That's enough, Freddie! It's really sweet, but I already understand how you feel. Besides, diaries are private, so I really don't feel right hearing what you wrote in yours."

He flipped the book up vertically, "Who said it was mine?" and I dropped every plate in my hands, and my heart screeched to a halt, and my head imploded, when I saw the name on the cover.

Sam Puckett.

The strangled noise coming from halfway up the stairs told me she'd seen it happen. It was a full ten seconds before I could turn around and face her, wide-eyed, my mouth hanging open from the shock, unable to say a word. She stood, motionless, looking back at me with the most completely destroyed expression I had ever witnessed in my life.

Freddie:

The instant I did it I regretted it, and would have given _anything_ to be able to take it back. It was the pain of Carly making me admit - right after what Sam had put me through with Joy - that I still loved her (while _still _knowing that I could never have her) that had...well...

How could I have done that to Sam? For years I've endured being her verbal and physical punching bag; how could I not...after witnessing how horrible her upbringing has been?

...and after, on so many occasions, seeing the scared little girl looking out so wistfully through the cracks in her "tough guy" facade?

...and after watching how she cries every time Carly gives her a birthday gift, because her own mom always forgets when it is? She thinks I don't see, but every single time she pulls away from Carly, after thanking her with an exceptionally long hug, there's always a small, but unmistakable, dark patch on Carly's shoulder.

How could I have done that to Carly? Sam makes her so happy. Carly's always been sweet to everyone, well, maybe not Lewbert or Neville, but I've watched her endlessly taking care of Sam, feeding her, making sure she always has clean clothes for school; selflessly giving so much of her time and her heart. Last spring, when Sam was really sick, Carly insisted that she stay at the apartment _and _in her own bed, even though she was highly contagious. I was bringing a bowl of chicken soup into the room and Carly was sitting on the bed next to her, with her back to me, and she was telling Sam, "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." And I saw the indescribable love and gratitude in Sam's eyes, right before Carly hugged her up to her chest.

For years I've mediated their arguments to keep them together and, in less than two minutes, I ruined something so rare that many people never experience it once in a lifetime.

I didn't flinch when Carly grabbed two fistfuls of my shirtfront and, without a word, shoved me out into the hall. All I could do was stare at the outside of her closed door. What did I just destroy?

I did this. To both of them. Over a girl who wasn't even Carly.

It was completely unnecessary for Sam and Carly to hate me; I hated myself enough for all three of us.

Sam:

Stupid, Stupid, STUPID! I_ never_ take my diary out of the house! The only reason I did this one time was because my mom was looking all over for her keys and I was afraid she'd look in my room and find it. I didn't even notice it was missing because I rarely do homework, so I hardly ever open my bag, and I never dreamed that Freddie would.

When Carly turned and stared at me like I had 3 heads, I felt my heart lurch out of my chest and slam through the floor, leaving me so completely paralyzed that I couldn't even tear my eyes away from hers. Finally, I was able to turn from her and saw Freddie, who was still in the doorway, looking at me like he realized that his impending death was mere seconds away. As I ran toward him, he didn't move, but I saw the terror in his eyes. Without missing a beat, I flung him to one side and ran. I knew I had to get out of there. Away from her.

Carly:

I had never ditched curfew before. Well, there was the MMA event, but that was in the early evening and I wasn't by myself; in my entire seventeen years, I had never been out alone past ten pm.

It was nearly eleven when I put on my baggiest jeans, a heavy sweater, and one of Spencer's oversized jackets, trying to look as large and unvictimlike (is that a word(?) as possible. After pulling a baseball cap low over my eyes, I scribbled a note and left it on my nightstand. That way Spencer wouldn't see it right away, but would eventually find it if something...went wrong.

At 4:13 am, after hitting every main street, side street and alley within a fifteen block radius of my apartment, I gave up. My first and last stops had been at her house, but, as I looked through the windows, I could see that she wasn't on the couch, the bathroom was dark, and, from the hall light shining through the open door leading to her room, that her bed was empty.

For the next three days Sam avoided school and didn't answer her phone. I wasn't able to get in touch with her mom either, even though I left countless messages (asking her to "please call me, it's really important"), and made several more trips to their house. Finally, to my immense relief, I heard from her.

"Carly, I got your messages. You wanted me to call you?"

"Mrs. Puckett, about Sam..."

"Don't worry, I know that she's staying with you...it's fine...I found the note she left three days ago. Just tell her not to come home for the rest of the week, though, because I'll be...uh...entertaining." Then she gave a throaty laugh, and mumbled, "Spike, stop that! Look, Carly, I have to go...call me later, okay?" Then, without waiting to hear my response...She Hung Up.

Bitch! For the past 72 hours I've spent practically every minute outside of school looking all over this city for your daughter, who's missing and who could very well be dead, and all you care about is keeping her away from your, and her, home while you're shagging some loser?

By Day Four I was just freaking out. Pacing my room endlessly, slamming my hands against each wall as I reach it. Should I call the police? I'd kept putting it off, hoping she'd turn up, but it was beginning to seem like the best, if not the only, option.

Her diary had fallen out of Freddie's hands when I threw him out of the apartment. I looked over at my bottom desk drawer, where it was locked up. I'd never read anyone's diary before, even though there had been opportunities in the past when I could have. Didn't she write something about not being able to go on living, knowing I'll never belong to her? Should I look inside to see if there's some clue as to where she might be? No, I'm too afraid of what I might find...

I Google" gay teen suicide statistics"...Oh, God!

Spencer keeps pounding on my bedroom door, wanting to know what's wrong, but I can't tell him. Not this. If he _ever_ told our dad...

I kept staring at the box on my closet shelf. Finally I got it down and pulled out the scrapbook she'd made for my last birthday. I had looked at it before, but I'd never fully appreciated how many hours she must have spent on it. All the captions so neatly printed, not in her usual hurried scrawl, but still unmistakeably hers. As I sat, carefully examining each page, and admiring her artistic talents, especially the elaborate collage that she'd pasted together at the end, I realized, for the first time, that the last two pages of the book were stuck together. I carefully peeled them apart and looked down at a picture of her smiling, openly and warmly, up at me.

Dear Carly, I wish words existed that could express my appreciation for all that you do, and all that you mean to me. I Love You So Much, Sam

Spencer shouldered the door open and picked me up off the floor, and I just kept hitting his chest with my head and bawling and it wasn't until he put me, still fully dressed, under a cold shower that I finally began to get a grip.

I saw tears in Spencer's eyes the next morning,. He's heartbroken that I won't confide in him... "Please, Carly, who's hurting you so badly?" I can't tell him...ever.

When he left for the junkyard I pushed my uneaten breakfast across the table, and laid my head on my arms. What am I going to do? This whole thing isn't even Freddie's fault. It's mine. During the past year or so, Sam had brought our conversations around to gay-related topics, not once but several times, and I had always changed the subject immediately, because it's something I've always been very uncomfortable discussing. My parents never...well, actually, they did once in a while, but certainly not in a positive way.

Why hadn't I realized what she was trying to tell me? I had never comprehended what my refusal to talk about it must have done to her. She was hinting around, and I'd missed it; and, if she harmed herself, I'd only have myself to blame. When she froze, looking at me, completely destroyed, why hadn't I immediately run over and hugged her and told her that I'd always love her, no matter what her feelings were? I mean, if only I had...

It was just then that I heard the quiet, tentative knock at the front door. As I walked to it, I prayed with more passion than I ever had. "Please Lord, since I was a little girl I've spoken to you every night, but it's almost always been about wanting you to help _other people_. You know I've hardly ever asked for anything for myself, but now I'm asking, no I'm BEGGING you, please, please let her be okay. For me. And for her. I've always tried to live my life as You wan..."

Whoever was on the other side of the door was now pounding. "...please, God, please just let it be her."

I pulled my shirttail up and wiped my eyes on it, then I flung the door open , hoping to see Sam, but also prepared for the worst.

It was Freddie.

Freddie:

"I know you never want to talk to me again..." My voice trailed off and all the explanations and apologies I'd rehearsed for the past three hours fled my mind completely, leaving it blank, raw, and exposed. I braced myself, waiting for the screaming...waiting for Carly to say she hated me and always would, but all she could do is look at me with a lifetime's worth of hurt in her eyes and say in a quiet voice,

"Why, Freddie? Why?"

"I...I don't have an excuse."

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"I just came over to ask you the same thing."

"I've looked everywhere I can think of."

"So have I. For the past three days."

I lowered my head into my hands. " This might never have happened if I...in the past she tried to bring it up...but I...wouldn't discuss it with her."

"That's not your fault, Carly..."

Sam:

I approached the door, dreading what could happen, but desperately hoping that maybe she really didn't hate me for being gay, _and_ for keeping another secret from her, after I swore I wouldn't. Hoping that maybe, if I promised to never touch her again she could find it in her heart to scrape the pieces of our friendship back together. I could spend the rest of my life not touching her, if I could just be near her, watching her smile at me occasionally, that would be enough. More than enough.

As I raised my hand to knock I heard Freddie's voice. Instinctively I flattened my back against the wall next to the door and listened

"...your dad is old-school military. I remember when Spencer was in high school, your dad _forbidding_ him to keep hanging around with 'that faggot, Drew McDonald'."

My God, not again.

"I'm well aware that my father...scratch that...that _both_ my parents are intolerant of gays..."

"Then why would this be any different?"

"It wouldn't..."

I left. I had heard enough.

Carly:

"It wouldn't..." I paused for a long moment, bracing myself...why were the words so difficult to say? I leaned forward and grabbed the back of the couch with both hands, and then forced myself to continue, "...it wouldn't...if my parents weren't on another continent...and...if I was still willing to believe that all gays are sick, twisted perverts who are going to burn in hell."

He nodded.

I took a deep breath and continued. " My mom and dad aren't bad people, but they both had really strict religious upbringings. Besides, they don't need to know that she's gay."

After another sleepless night spent staring at my phone and trying to will it to ring, I gave up. I was going to have to go talk to her mom.

It was almost 8 am and I was en route to Sam's house, when I stopped at Kensington Place Pharmacy, across the street from the entrance to Meridian Park. There was no way my stomach could handle coffee or food right then, but I decided to get some iced tea, hoping that the caffeine would help clear my head somewhat. I was so completely preoccupied, not to mention physically drained, that I didn't notice the police car in the parking lot.

As I headed toward the register, with a bottle of Spice Island flavor, I heard yelling coming from the manager's office. I walked over to the nearby glass bay window and looked inside...and saw two police officers, one forcing Sam forward over the desk, while the other handcuffed her. Setting my tea on the nearest shelf, I hammered on the door with both my fists, and the manager stuck his head out.

"I'm sorry, young lady, I'm in the middle of something impor..."

"Please, let me in!" I said, immediately pushing past him, and through the partially closed door. One of the officers had pushed Sam into a chair and was holding her there with a hand on her shoulder, while she squirmed and yelled, "Make these cops let me go, you hobknocker!"

Hey shot her a look of disgust, and then said. " Officers, I would like to press_ full_ charges."

On the desk was Sam's backpack and, next to it, a huge pile of food. Oh, My God...

As I stumbled into the office, her eyes widened at the sight of me, then she looked away and stared at the wall.

"Sam!"

The manager turned to me. "Do you know this kid?"

"Yes, please, Mr. Reynolds, _please _just let me talk to you for a minute." Reluctantly, he and one of the police officers stepped outside the office with me, closing the door behind us.

Ordinarily I would never discuss anyone's parents' personal life, but Sam's mom had really infuriated me. After almost 15 minutes of pleading, telling him how she came from a very neglectful home, where she wasn't wanted, and that she would _never_ have done anything like this if she wasn't extremely hungry, he finally relented, after I had offered to pay for everything _and_ to let him keep the merchandise.

"That's not necessary. You'll keep her out of my store?"

"Yes sir."

I watched through the glass as they removed her handcuffs. "I'm not pressing charges...this time. You're free to go...but stay the hell out of here!"

As she stormed from the office he called after her, "And kid, from now on, when you want a meal, there's a soup kitchen over on Sunnyside Avenue." Stunned, she shot me an incredibly hurt look, then rushed out the front door.

I was glad I had sneakers on because, otherwise, keeping up with her would not have been easy.

I hurried along beside her, across the street and through the park entrance gates, waiting for her to say something, anything, but the only sounds were our footsteps on the sidewalk. Finally, I said, "Well...you're welcome."

Without looking at me, she yelled, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"What do you mean? I've always tried to get you out of..."

"Don't bother!"

"Sam, I have to talk to you!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Come on, Sam, I just want to..."

She doubled her pace. We had reached Poet's Corner, which was, as usual, deserted this early in the morning, when I grabbed both her arms from behind, pulled her off balance, then wrestled her, face-up, onto the grass. I sat on her stomach, leaned forward, and pinned her shoulders to the ground, looking down at her as she lay there, eyes closed, breathing hard.

"Get off...now."

"No! There are so many things we need to..."

"I said...get off...now."

I wasn't afraid of her hitting me. I knew she could easily send me flying across the lawn with one sweep of her arm, but I also knew she never would.

"Sam, talk to me!"

She shook her head.

"Please," I begged, "just this once and then, I promise, if you want me to leave you alone I will."

She reflected a moment then looked up at me with empty eyes. "Just say whatever it is you have to say."

If I hadn't spent the past four days subsisting on almost zero sleep I would have had the presence of mind to begin with an apology, but my all my exhausted brain could focus on at that moment was how much trouble she'd just almost landed herself in.

"Sam, I realize that you're hungry, but of all the places to steal from, Kensington Pharmacy? There's a reason why everyone in our school hates that manager, Albert Reynolds..."Rotten Reynolds", remember?"

No response.

"And not just a candy bar-an entire backpack full of food? It took a whole lot of begging to persuade him to..."

She gave me an incredulous look. "For a 'straight-A' student, you just don't get it, do you?"

"What are you talking ab..." Suddenly, it hit me...like a fist being slammed into the side of my head. "You were _trying_ to get arrested?"

She nodded

"But...why?"

"Because I know that juvie hall is the one place I'll never see you."

I started to cry. "That's not true; you know it's not!"

"How can you expect me to believe that, after your little chat with Amy Brannon?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb...the one you had during lunch yesterday."

"You weren't at school; how do you even know I was talking to her"

"I was in the bushes outside the cafeteria window. What were you talking about?"

Oh no. "Please don't ask me that."

"You wanted to talk...so answer my question"

I was trapped and I knew it. "Sam, I'm really sorry, but I can't discuss that right now."

"Fine, I suppose you intended for me to find out when she shows up on iCarly as your new co-host."

"WHAT?"

"Just admit it, Carls, you and Amy Brannon were sitting at a table, alone, with your heads together, and you were talking intently with her while gesturing with your hands, the same way you always did when you used to talk to me about the show. I know an interview when I see one."

"Sam, it wasn't like that..."

"Then what were you talking about?"

"It was just a...c-conversation."

"Right, and later that afternoon I saw you guys leave school together...you never walk home with her."

"Why would I even want Amy on the show?"

"Come on, Carly, the girl is hilarious. What a perfect co-host she's going to make."

"Sam, no...I swear it wasn't like that!"

"Yeah, whatever. Well, I'm sure Freddie has spread his revenge story all over school by now, but don't worry, you're safe with Amy, everyone knows _she _likes boys, so you won't have to worry if _she's_ standing as close to you as I used to."

My tears were falling on her striped sweatshirt, the one I'd given her last Christmas. "Sam, where have you been for the past four days?"

"That's my business."

"Please, just come back to the apartment and..."

"That's not going to happen."

"Not today?"

"Notever. "

"What about all your clothes that are still in my dresser..."

Suddenly, she grabbed my handbag and flung it over the nearby stone wall.

I knew what that meant.

After a long look at her through tear-filled eyes I went to retrieve it, not because it was more important to me than she was, but because she knew I'd retrieve it_ for her;_ both of us knowing that when I returned to this spot, she'd be gone.

Sam:

From the west end of King Street it's only a short walk to the waterfront. I like to sit on the piers there and look across at Bainbridge Island in the late afternoon, when the sun makes everything look sad and beautiful at the same time. Aside from an occasional screeching seagull, it's quiet. As I was rummaging around in my backpack for the other half of the bag of pretzels that had been my lunch, a long, familiar shadow fell across my legs and, shielding my eyes from the sun, I looked up. This was the last place on earth I expected to find Spencer.

"Hello, Sam."

"What are you doing here?"

He shifted the bucket he was carrying from his right hand to his left. " Collecting shells for a new sculpture."

"Oh."

"I've missed seeing you around the house. Would you like to come over?"

I shook my head.

"It's been three weeks."

"I know."

"Carly told me you moved your locker."

"Uh...yeah."

"Sam, what happened?"

"Ask her."

"I have...she refuses to tell me."

"Maybe it's better that way. What makes you think I know, anyway?"

"I know that you know."

"How?"

"Because there's nothing on this earth that could devastate Carly more than losing you. I've never seen her like this."

I was silent.

"One other thing...your fans want to know what happened to you."

"They don't need to know. Just give Amy a few more weeks; they'll get used to her."

"Who's Amy?"

"Amy Brannon, Carly's new co-host."

"There is no more iCarly."

"Give it time. She'll still do the show."

"Not without you."

We were both silent for a long time, and I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts again. "Is there anything else, Spence?"

"Yes, actually, I wanted to make sure everything is okay with your mom. She left a weird message on our answering machine this afternoon, telling Carly to stay the hell away from your house."

God, why wouldn't she just give up? I wasn't in the mood to deal with drama at the moment, so I just nodded. "It'll be fine."

He looked like he had run out of things to say.

"Well...good luck with your shell sculpture."

"Sam, take care of yourself." I know he wanted to hug me but I didn't give him any encouragement, just leaned back on my palms and looked out across the bay. I watched from the corner of my eye as he gave a tight, crooked little smile, and then walked away, his back to the sun.

When I got home I walked around to the side yard and, sure enough, there were footprints in the mud under my bedroom window. Great, now she's stalking me. What made her think I was going to subject myself to any more of her holier-than-thou lectures, or her abuse, ever again? I went inside, locked the window, and headed to the kitchen.

My mom was out, so I didn't have to share the half-eaten pizza I managed to scrounge from the fridge. Afterward I sat in front of the TV, not even aware of what I was watching until, just after midnight, I finally decided to call it quits.

I went to my room, not bothering to shut the door since my mom wasn't home anyway. As I sprawled backwards, still fully dressed, onto my bed, my head made contact with a long, hard object. What the hell? I reached under the pillow, expecting to find a stale, half-eaten sub roll, but instead pulled out a narrow, beautifully wrapped box.

The dim light slanting into my room from the hallway wasn't enough, so I lit my table lamp and unwrapped the box, then lifted the lid, on which "Brannon Jewelers" was embossed in gold let...Brannon Jewelers?

Hands shaking, I moved aside the silk that was folded across the opening of the box, and there it was, on its midnight blue velvet cushion: a delicate 18k yellow gold foxtail chain, with dangling, solid gold heart pendant. As I lifted it from the box and moved it closer to the light, I saw, on the front of the heart, two elaborately engraved initials, "C" and "S", entwined.

On the other side was simply etched, "I'm not going anywhere."

I didn't want to stop to shower, but I still smelled like the docks.

It was just after two am that I found myself standing, heart hammering, outside the apartment (I tried to convince myself that it was due to me running non-stop from my house). In the past Spencer had informed me (repeatedly) that he was tired of replacing the chain lock, so I picked the back door lock and let myself in, then quietly climbed the stairs.

The bedroom door was closed, but unlocked, so I took the liberty of considering that to be as good an invitation as could be expected. I entered, silently closing the door behind me.

She'd fallen asleep with the bedside table lamp still on, lying face-up on top of the bedspread, her hand resting on an open scrapbook...the one I'd made for her.

Carly usually wore one of her Bunny Luv nightshirts to bed, so I really wasn't expecting to see her in my blue Cuttlefish T-shirt and my favorite pair of cargo shorts. The shirt was riding up, revealing her bare stomach, and, as I leaned over her to pull it back down I...oh, wow, my boxers, too?

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her, for I don't know how long. My God, she looked so tired...way too young to look so tired. Finally I took a deep breath.

As I moved her hand off the scrapbook and rested it against my cheek, I saw her eyes open halfway. "Sam...my book...,"she murmured.

"Wouldn't you rather look at the real deal?"

Her eyes shot open. "Sam?"

As she struggled to sit up I opened the front of my shirt to show her what was around my neck, but all she could do was stare at my face. I had no difficulty reading what was in her eyes: so wanting to talk, but so afraid that she might say the wrong thing. Finally, I broke the silence.

"Amy's dad does nice work."

She found her voice. "I...wanted to give it to you sooner, but it was a custom order."

I moved her hand from my cheek and put it inside my shirt, just over my heart. "If you're willing to talk, I'm willing to listen."

"Yes, but first I have one other thing to give you. I didn't want to leave it under your pillow."

Before I could ask what it was, she took my face in both her hands and kissed me. And not on the cheek. When she finally leaned away, I saw tears in her eyes.

"Sam, I'm so sorry I never let you discuss this with me."

"Because of your parents."

"Because of myself. I couldn't admit it to myself, let alone anyone to anyone else."

"It's alright...I still love you, Carls...even if you _are_ gay."

For some reason, that cracked her up.

It was my turn. "Carly, I'm so sorry...for everyth..."

She cut me off with a kiss, and I lost all sense of time. Then, suddenly, I was on my back, her arms were around me, and I heard her whisper into my chest.

"I'm telling Spencer in the morning..."

Carly:

I tried to put so much into that kiss. To let her know that nothing anyone else said or did mattered anymore; and I'll never forget the look in her eyes when I pinned her under me and kissed her again.

It's now four hours later and we're still kissing, but I'm not surprised that she hasn't tried to undress me, or that her hands haven't strayed onto my chest, or down the front of my shorts.

It's almost seven am and the sun is coming up, and through the pale, watery, early October light I can see the unmistakable passion in her eyes; telling me, without words, that she wants to, as much as I do, and that we will...but not today. I feel her arms encircle me as I rest my head on her chest, on her wrinkled shirt...hmm...which is missing its bottom button.

Note to self: Take care of that tomorrow...

Epilogue

Sam:

"Carly! Carly! Caaar-leee!"

I can't decide which is more annoying: his high-pitched shrieks, or the frantic pounding on her front door. I look up from my salami and prosciutto sandwich as she opens it, and there's Freddie, with a dazed expression on his face, breathing weirdly, while hugging something to his chest.

I watch as Carly pulls him into the apartment and asks, with concern, "Freddie, are you okay?"

"Uh...yeah...I think so!"

"Hey, what's that?"

He unfolds his arms and stammers, "L-L-Look!"

"Is that the new Pear Portfolio?"

"Yes!"

"But, don't they cost, like, $1,600?"

"$1,700!" he corrected her.

"But...Christmas isn't for another 3 weeks. Did your mom have to hock everything she owns to pay for it?"

"It's not from my mom..."

"Oh my God, what did you do...rob a bank?"

"No, Send-Ex just delivered it to our apartment! Here, read the card..."

Looking confused, she opens it. " 'To Freddie, from your biggest fan.' Good Lord, do you think it could be from that whack job, Mandy?"

"No way, Carly, she doesn't have that kind of money!"

"Then where did it come from?"

"No idea." He turns to me. "Sam, what do you think?"

I just shrug.

Note to self: Those blackjack tournaments in my garage are so lucrative...gotta hold 'em more often...


End file.
